September 2015

September 11, 2015

Netflix's "Narcos" has a lot of people talking. Starring the magnificent Brazilian actor Wagner Moura and co-produced and partially directed by Brazilian José Padilha, the show focuses on Colombia but carries an indelible Brazilian imprint. There have been a variety of complaints about the show, but I think it's a great watch and an important jumping-off point for shows and movies about Latin America for a global audience. Here's why.

5. Almost half of it is in Spanish - even if the accents are off.

There's been a lot of complaining about Moura's Brazilian accent in Spanish, and the potpourri of other accents among the Spanish-speaking cast. But the fact that it's in Spanish at all is a huge improvement over many U.S. productions where the cast speaks English, even though they're supposed to be Russian or French or Mexican. There's been hesitation to thrust subtitles on American audiences, but since Netflix is betting on global viewers, it took the risk, and I think it paid off well. I understand how annoying the accent issue must be for Colombians, but a lot of viewers likely didn't notice, especially because Moura is so great (and terrifying).

4. Its docudrama format uses a huge amount of actual events and people, including layers of historic footage.

One of the complaints about the show relates to the mentions of magical realism. I get that it's clichéd, but I think it drives at the idea that truth is often stranger than fiction, and it's in this realm that Padilha - who directed the documentary Bus 174 and the Elite Squad docudramas - thrives. Moral relativism, the blurred line between good and evil, and the intersection of violence and power are all very much part of his wheelhouse, and they're what make "Narcos" so compelling. Padilha favors this format because he seems invested in educating audiences in addition to entertaining them.

3. "Narcos" addresses American intervention in Latin America in an interesting and nuanced way, andit reminds us that the drug war is truly global.

It's rare to see a blockbuster TV show or movie address American interventionism in Latin America well. One of the best things about "Narcos" is not only using historical facts, but ensuring that the Americans in the story aren't seen as the heroes, sweeping in to aid the "helpless" locals. (This is likely because of the amount of Latin Americans involved in producing and directing the series, another important factor to point out.) Not only do we learn about U.S. involvement in Colombia's drug war, but we also learn about U.S. support of Pinochet in Chile, as well as very relevant issues of torture and surveillance.

2. It drives home the idea that what happened to Colombia could happen in other Latin American countries.

Colombia is uniquely geographically positioned for the cocaine trade to have flourished there: neighboring coca-growing countries, having a climate where coca could grow, and being relatively close to the U.S., among other factors.

But the show's highlight of the fact that Chile was initially a cocaine-trafficking hotspot is a relevant one. Drug trafficking and its funding of organized crime has affected all Latin American countries, and while Colombia is still a major player, ground zero of drug trafficking in the Americas has moved to Mexico and Central America. Watching the show, I can easily imagine spin-offs series in other Latin American countries, even Brazil. Padilha himself reportedly left his home in Rio de Janeiro and moved to Los Angeles after getting fed up with armed violence.

1. The series illustrates what Colombians endured and continue to endure in their daily lives and in forming a national identity.

Colombians are the heroes in this series: not only the leaders who stood up to the traffickers but also the regular people who dealt with the consequences of the drug war. To me, that's one of the strongest elements of the show and one that transcends Hollywood stereotypes.

I think it also helps global audiences understand why the drug war has affected Colombians' view of themselves and the shame and trauma they feel having lived through the worst of the violence. It's hard to be a Colombian abroad because of the stigma attached to the drug war, meaning Colombians have faced more stringent visa requirements and humiliations when crossing borders. There's a powerful moment in the series featuring presidential candidate Luis Carlos Galán and part of a real speech he gave:

"We're changing the Colombian people's consciousness...so that never again will any Colombian feel ashamed when he shows his country's passport."

The show focuses on some of Colombia's worst historical moments, but it provides so much historical context that it really helps people understand what the country went through and the incredible corrupting power of drug money. It really makes one think: what if this had been your country?

September 02, 2015

Between the political crisis and an economic downturn, Brazil is going through a rough patch. It's easy to forget that the gears of change are slowly and quietly continuing to grind away. The film "The Second Mother," or "Que Horas Ela Volta?" (What Time Does She Get Home?) helps remind audiences of this important reality that Brazil is changing for the better, and may not always be held hostage to its history.

The film - this year's Academy Awards submission from Brazil - follows Val, a live-in maid from the Northeast working for a wealthy family in São Paulo. It's "Neighboring Sounds" meets "The Help," though I suspect with a black protagonist, it would have been an entirely different movie altogether. The movie is out now in Brazilian theaters and is showing in a limited release in the United States.

Regina Casé plays Val, and she's perfect. Having honed her comedic skills over decades and dedicated part of her career to spotlighting Brazil's poor and working classes, she truly incarnates the role and beautifully depicts a position that has evolved as a remnant of slavery.

While this is a very Brazilian story, it's also a fundamentally Latin American story. It brings to mind women who leave their children in another region or in a whole other country, from Paraguayan domestics in Argentina to Central American maids in the United States. Brazilians and anyone who has spent significant time in Brazil likely knows a Val, and will recognize her mannerisms and personality in Casé's character.

Directed by a woman, Anna Muylaert, the movie also touches on universal issues like motherhood, feminism, the generation gap, and social class divisions. It's this last piece - the deep social divide and the daily indignities Val faces - that are so uncomfortable to witness that I was squirming in my seat.

Expertly filmed, the movie makes the audience feel like it's in Val's shoes, with narrow shots of hallways and doorways, giving one a very keen sense of both the physical and social boundaries within a single home. It's only when Val's daughter, Jéssica, shows up, that we see the realm the family lives in, rather than the confines of the kitchen or the claustrophobic bedroom where Val sleeps. Jéssica refuses to abide by the unspoken rules, taking up in the guest room, eating in the dining room, and most controversially, swimming in the pool.

"A person is born knowing her position," Val scolds her daughter. "When they offer you something of theirs, they're being polite. They know we'll say no."

Jéssica represents a new generation of Brazilians and the new middle class, breaking boundaries (literally), getting a higher education, and flouting norms and expectations for what a person of little means can do with her life.

Still, the treatment that Bárbara, the woman of the house, gives Val and her daughter, seem unfortunately realistic. "You're nearly family!" Bárbara tells Val at one point, sandwiched between growing humiliations to which she subjects her. The Twitter account A Minha Empregada (My Maid) reveals precisely these types of views and treatment of maids.

What the film hints at but ultimately doesn't show is that the landscape for domestic work in Brazil is changing dramatically.

Brazil has close to 7 million domestic workers, more than any country in the world. But the rules of the game changed in 2013, when a constitutional amendment passed that gave a host of rights to domestic workers, including a minimum wage, a maximum number of working hours, overtime, lunch breaks, and social security. Plus, in recent years, some women have been leaving the profession to get an education or change careers. With salaries rising, it's no longer as common that maids live with families, as women opt to commute. And because workers are more expensive to hire, some families no longer have full-time maids. And in São Paulo, some upper-class homes are no longer built with maid's quarters.

Still, it's precisely this hope for change that makes the movie work, ending with a sense of redemption.

At one point in the film, Jéssica announces her plan to go to university to study architecture at one of the best schools in the country. Bárabara lifts an eyebrow and in a voice dripping with condescension and a hint of resentment, says: "See? Our country really is changing."